Magechild
by Alfirin1986
Summary: The story of Madea, a young, orphaned apostate with some trust issues. She has only ever known how to hide her magic and not use it. She has had dreams of a perfect life, but the reality turns out much different. Rated 'M' for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Chapter One_

It felt like she had been running forever. As a child it was at her father's will; she had been too young to understand his reasons, let alone oppose them. After his death, even among the relative safety of the rundown and secluded orphanage outside Nevarra City she had always been ready to make her escape if necessary. It was there they had bestowed upon her the nickname "Magechild". The other children meant it as an insult because her father had been an apostate. They never realized that she shared his talent. Above all else, even love, he had instilled in her a fear to keep her magic hidden. No cost was too high, save her own life—for if the templars were ever to catch her that would indeed be the price.

_"Trust no one!" he had told her fiercely, his voice hushed even though they were alone._

_Madea had been silent, stunned by fear at his tone. Her six year old mind could not comprehend what she had done to earn such a harsh lecture. He grabbed her arms and shook her lightly. "Do you understand me, Madea?" he asked._

_She had nodded and blinked back the tears in her eyes as best she could. Experience had taught her she would find no sympathy while he was in such a mood. "Yes papa."_

_He nodded once and released her. "Good." He had turned to leave._

_Madea lurched forward but didn't dare grab his robes or hand, "Papa wait! I—I can trust __**you**__, right?"_

_His eyes had softened for the briefest of moments and then they had grown sad and distant and he turned away again. "Trust no one."_

He would be dead within the year and she could only do as he had asked her because she knew no other way. He had taken every ounce of familiarity with him. Everyone was a stranger to her and those who became more than that were still never accepted. Her father had shown her time and again how trust was rewarded. She would not let his lessons be in vain.

While the other orphans played outside on days when the weather permitted she remained inside, keeping to herself as much as possible. The slightest relaxation of her defenses could spell disaster. Oftentimes she watched them play through the windows and wished she was normal like them so that she could run and jump and play.

Instead she sat alone and listened to the attendants through the thin walls. It was from their gossip that she learned of the Hero of Ferelden. She loved to hear tales of the woman that had killed the archdemon and then survived to marry the new king. She had lived near the hero's home at Highever Castle for a time before taking ship to the Free Marches. Madea couldn't remember if she had ever seen the woman, but she dreamt she had. It was the one secret dream she allowed herself to harbor.

She kept it with her even when she left the orphanage. Before dawn on the first day of summer when she was fourteen years old she had been roused from the little cot she had occupied for the past seven years and ushered to the front door. The attendant whose lot it was to send her away pressed a handful of coppers into her palm, passed over a bundle of food and told her to seek out work in the city.

Just like that everything she knew was gone again. 

**O-o-O**

The city spilled along the riverbank. The sparkling cobalt waters looked refreshingly simple compared to the overwhelming extravagance that littered the streets. Statues stood on most corners and they were only to be outdone by the intricate tombs where the Nevarrans interred their dead. Brightly colored cloth banners and wooden stands marked the extensive market that exploded from the main necropolis.

It was easy to see that the lifeblood of the city was the trade that spilled in and out of the busy market. Merchants and farmers alike brought their wares to the city to sell. Some came overland with their carts full of grains and spices while others navigated the river's currents with vessels loaded down with silk, expensive dyes and exotic goods that would be well received in this city of luxury.

A place like that could swallow a person whole and leave nothing to be remembered and therefore it was with a sense of apprehension that she entered the market. It was an immediate barrage of colors and sounds. Her blue eyes went wide with amazement. Even in all the years on the road with her father she had never seen anything as grand as this. A crowd of people in a place this busy could make it all too easy for her to lose her concentration and reveal herself. She had to be careful; one never knew where Templars were lurking.

People jostled and shouted, paying no heed to an orphan in little more than rags. She wove through the crowds and ducked out of the way of big-bellied merchants shouting out their prices. She had never seen such finery. There were pools of silk in various shades of violet and crimson. Ornate cages dangled from hooks at several merchant's stands. Some were filled with brightly colored finches chirping their injustices for the world to hear. Others contained wide-eyed monkeys who appeared just as bewildered as she felt.

As she rounded a corner a hundred different aromas hit her at once. Her stomach rumbled as she inhaled. This street was lined with vendors cooking more food than she had ever seen in one place. She didn't even know what most of the foods were, but they sure looked and smelled delicious. The few copper pennies jingled in her pocket, but they would not be enough to buy anything so grand.

Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip as she eyed the food. She had picked up some skills in her time at the orphanage. She was not proud of her ability to pick locks or keep to the shadows and remain unseen, but they were vital skills. They would keep her alive where her cursed magic would only expose her neck. She knew she should not steal, but she was so hungry. Resigned, she turned away with a sigh; she would have to be hungrier than this before she resorted to petty theft.

"Here."

The voice belonged to a sandy haired youth with sparkling grey eyes. He grinned at her, flashing teeth as white as the ivory baubles she had seen at a vendor's stall. He was holding a small sack. "Take it," he urged when she hesitated.

"I—uh—no that's quite alright," she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at his kindness. What reason would a complete stranger have to offer her any help.

His own eyes narrowed and Madea thought for sure he was about to turn on her. Instead he leaned forward and whispered as if they were two friends sharing a secret. "You sound Ferelden. Are you from there?"

The squeak that escaped her lips at how easily he identified her country of birth made her cheeks flame red in embarrassment. She teetered backwards and shoved her hands behind her back. Ignoring his question she responded with her own. "Who are you?"

"Me? Nobody important, I assure you." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and grinned again. She had to admit, used correctly that smile could have easily disarmed her, but she was far too wary for that tomfoolery.

"And here you wanted me to take something from you when you won't even tell me your name," she snapped.

"Well, it was for **me** to ea—" He cut himself off and turned around as if he had heard someone call for him. Maybe he had. Madea was having a hard time hearing anything in the bustling market place. He dropped the sack in her hands and sketched a sloppy salute, "Gotta go, bright eyes! See you later!"

He took off and by the time she had recovered enough to call after him he had already disappeared. _Bright eyes_? She repeated to herself. Why would he call her that?

She looked down at the sack and then back up to see if he had reappeared. She searched the crowd but no matter how hard she looked she couldn't find him. Tentatively she opened the bundle in her hands. There was a small loaf of bread, a couple of apples and a large chunk of odd-looking cheese. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of it. He was really going to eat that? Despite that she didn't toss it away. One never knew how hungry they would get. She would do well to save it. If she held her nose and closed her eyes she might be able to stomach it were she hungry enough.

Much unlike the cheese, the apples were crisp and delicious. Juice dribbled down her chin and she caught the sweet nectar on her fingertips and sucked the juice from them. She savored the taste of a treat she had rarely been afforded in the past seven years. The food eased her hunger, but her curiosity about the stranger left her wanting more than ever.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

The man was obviously nervous and the crowd seemed to realize an uneasy warrior could make for a dangerous warrior. They passed carefully, risking a silver-tongued merchant talking them out of money they didn't have in order to avoid his attention. It made no difference, he hardly noticed them. His dark eyes swept the bazaar intently, searching for someone or something. No one else was important.

"Maker's breath, where are you Bryce?" he growled sending a couple of women who had paused to look at him scurrying away. He had been given one task—to look after the boy—and he had looked away for one minute and his charge had disappeared. "This is why I don't have children!"

"Well that and you're off following the Commander around all the time," a voice cut in.

He looked down at Bryce who had appeared at his side from seemingly nowhere. He caught his charge's collar, "I don't know how you managed to sneak up on me like that, but your mother needs to stop teaching you her techniques."

Bryce grinned, "Where's the fun in that?" He prided himself in the skills she had taught him.

"I'll admit that there's little fun in it, but it may well keep the both of us out of trouble, which is something I'd like to do."

"Oh, come on Jin. You can't tell me you always wanted to be so serious. You're not afraid of the commander are you?" Bryce prodded the warrior, already knowing the answer. The man was always serious. Bryce wasn't sure he'd ever seen him smile. And all the men seemed to have at least a healthy fear of their commanding officer.

"Being serious has kept me alive and I was asked to keep charge of you. If I fail in that it would be well within the Commander's right to punish me severely."

Typical, Bryce told himself wryly. He could tell he wasn't going to win this battle of wills. His stomach grumbled reminding him he'd just given up the food he'd bought. He wished he had at least kept the cheese. It had been a Nevarran delicacy the merchant had called Shanklish. The girl had seemed completely lost and was so thin he was pretty sure a strong wind would have blown her away. Surely she needed it more than he did; he just hoped she appreciated the cheese as much as he would have. Her sapphire eyes, though distrusting, had been dancing with life. She would be hard to forget.

"Come, this place is far too busy," Jin said firmly. "We must meet up with Nathaniel and the commander at nightfall and dusk is fast approaching."

The shadows had indeed been growing longer. The thrum of the marketplace took on a frantic edge as people rushed to complete their errands before the vendors packed up their stalls until the sun rose once again.

Bryce hoped that the girl he had met found a safe place to spend the night. Part of him wanted to look for her again, but he would never talk Jin into that.

Resigned, he nodded, "Very well, Jin. Lead the way."

**O-o-O**

She didn't miss the orphanage, but she did miss having a bed to sleep in. The market had taken on a sinister edge as night had fallen and she wanted to escape the streets before they grew more dangerous. She had found her way into an abandoned tomb still under construction. The Nevarrans built elaborate tombs and often started constructing their own while they were still relatively young. It wasn't an ideal place to sleep, but the Templars wouldn't venture here and as superstitious as the Nevarrans were regarding their dead she doubted any would enter a tomb, even an empty one.

As she lay awake she wondered if anyone at the orphanage had realized she was gone. The other children usually ignored her; the best she could hope for was that they had spared a passing thought for her when they fought over who got her bed. She was lucky that summer had come early this year. She didn't have a blanket or coat and a cold night could have meant the end of her. Rolling over she tucked her head into the crook of her arm and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. She had a lot before her and she'd need her wits about her if she were to survive.

The stone was cool, easing her flushed skin from a day in the sun. So much of her time had been spent indoors that her fair skin had burned under the sun's gaze. She wished she had an ounce of magical training. She knew there were mage healers and they surely could have eased the sting that prickled along her skin. Sadly the only control of her magic she had was her ability to hide it.

It felt as if she had only just drifted to sleep when she opened her eyes to a bright and hazy world. When she was a child her escapes to the fade were a relief from the monotonous blur of the orphanage. There were grand halls and open fields. She had spent what seemed like days watching the ocean glistening in the distance while she stood at the crest of a hill bathed in waist-high grass of emerald green.

This time it was different. There were no discernable surroundings except for the floor beneath her. Light filtered in from above, but she couldn't tell if there was no ceiling or if there was a sky light. It just seemed to emanate from everywhere. It seemed like it should be too bright, but it wasn't; it was soft and oddly welcoming. The places before had been beautiful but they had always carried an edge of otherness about them. This place was different. It was right and comforting. If she had ever had a home she imagined the feeling of belonging would have been like this.

That feeling faded, but did not completely dissipate as the feeling of otherness made itself present. Something was coming.

"Hello?"

The only reply was the echo of her voice.

She tried again. "Is anyone there?"

The hair on the back of her neck stood up even though no reply came. She could feel something watching her, she knew it; her instincts had not betrayed her thus far.

"I know you're there!" she yelled.

_There is no need to yell._

Her feet tangled together and she fell to her knees when she whirled to face whoever had just spoken. The voice seemed to come from everywhere, and nowhere. It was as if it sounded within her head though surely that could not be right. Her eyes fell on a figure that was barely discernible from the light it seemed to emit. She had never had any formal training on the fade or its inhabitants but she knew enough to know that there were benevolent spirits as well as demons. The problem was she had no way to discern which was which.

She lowered her voice a decibel, but it lost none of its ferocity. "What are you? Demon or spirit?" she demanded.

_Peace, child_. The being circled her, which didn't ease her tension. If anything she felt more cornered than before. _You have grown since last I saw you._

"We have never met!" Madea snarled.

There was amusement in this creature's voice now. _My, you are ferocious_. It paused in front of her._It is true, we have never met formally, but I have seen you many times before._

Fear spread through her and settled deep in the pit of her stomach. How had this creature observed her without her knowledge? If it had the ability to do that what else could it be capable of? The possibilities were frightening.

It seemed to sense her trepidation. _Do not fear. I mean you no harm._

"You'll forgive me if I say I can't take your word for it," she replied coldly. "I don't know you."

_You could trust me._

Trust. How easily this being used the word, as if it were something so easily given. "You say that like you have earned my trust, like I know who you are…what you are." Bitter memories made acid leak into her tone.

_Your abilities, and lack thereof, both protect and endanger you, child. Your father's greatest gift was teaching you how to conceal yourself as it has helped ward off the attentions of those who dwell here. But, were they ever to discover your gifts they would do anything to possess you. Never doubt that._

"They haven't kept me from **your** notice."

She would have been beaten for her insolence if she had used that tone with the orphanage attendants or her father, but here she was met with a gentle patience. _And you should be thankful for that. For some reason you intrigue me and that has kept you safe on several occasions._

Madea shook her head, "No…No! I don't want you to be intrigued by me. I want you to leave me alone. I am an untrained mage. I can't do anything for you, or a demon!"

_Your words only betray your innocence. A demon would find you a fine host, easily controlled as you have no training to keep them out. Your father did you no justice by keeping that training from you._The air around them began to hum. _But I doubt he thought you'd have such precious little time together._

Madea's throat tightened as she thought about her father. It became harder for her to remember him with each passing year. There were things she'd thought she'd never forget when he'd first been taken from her. Now those memories were so hard to recall; the rare smiles he'd afforded her when she'd been especially quick to pick something up, the low hum of his voice as he'd sang to himself while he wrote. He had never sung for her, even when she'd asked, but oftentimes she would feign sleep to hear him sing softly over his work in the dark of night. Those were things she'd sworn to remember. Now they escaped her like water slipping between her fingers.

The room flashed brilliantly and she squinted against the sudden brightness. As quickly as it had illuminated it dimmed. The light quickly faded as Madea sprung back to her feet. "What's happening? What are you doing?" Her throat grew painfully tight.

_You are in danger, Madea. It is time to wake up._The spirit's voice was firm now, insistent.

"What have you done?" she demanded, her voice raspy from the pain.

_It is not I. You must go now_. The spirit loomed in and she cringed, expecting the accustomed pain of a physical blow. It never came. _Madea! You must wake-!_

"WAKE UP!"

She came awake with a strangled gasp. The voice was definitely male. Panic flooded through her causing her heart to pound frantically in her chest. Had the templars finally found her? Her first day on her own and her luck had finally run out.

She quickly realized that this man was no templar. The stink of stale whiskey and rotting teeth pulled her firmly from sleep and she realized the tightening around her throat was due his large hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

A sallow, rat-like face poked over the man's shoulder. "She's a bit skinny, don't ya think?"

"What do I care? They'll buy her anyway. Look at her eyes; bright eyes she's got." The other man leaned forward and bared his yellow teeth in a semblance of a grin. "The men'll pay a pretty coin for them alone."

The fear Madea had felt in the fade was nothing compared to the raw terror that coursed through her now. She fought every instinct she had to unleash the magic she kept so tightly leashed. She didn't know how to use it; it could aid these men as easily as kill them. She had no defenses.

The hand around her throat eased, allowing her to take a desperate gulp of much needed oxygen. It was the last thing she remembered before the big man holding her down leaned into until their noses were almost touching. She squirmed against him, but it was of no use. He was far too strong for her.

"Goodnight sweetheart."

She never felt the blow to her head but one moment she was awake and the next everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

Night engulfed Nevarra City like a velvet cloak but the brothel remained as busy as ever. The business of sex and lust never slept after all. Nathaniel hated this brothel. Really, he hated brothels everywhere, but there was something worse about this one. The people went about their sordid affairs as they always did but there was an undercurrent of ever present danger that put him on edge. His fingers danced anxiously over his knee as he sat near the fireplace in the main room. _Why the assassin feels the need to meet here of all places I'll never understand_, he growled to himself. His eyes strayed to his commanding officer who was leaning casually against the counter speaking in undertones to the Matron. He could tell the Matron was reluctant to tell her anything.

_Just like last night_, he thought, _and the night before_. They had been coming to this establishment for three nights now, each time requesting to speak with someone they both knew was in the city. Each night they were turned away with another excuse.

"Wait and I'll go check again!" the Matron snapped and bustled off, casting nasty glances over her shoulder.

He caught the eye of his friend and grimaced, showing his distaste for their surroundings. It was met with a soft laugh. She knew he hated brothels; they had been friends long enough that there was little they didn't know about the other. She crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from him. "You'd think after all the times we spent together in these establishments, you'd have grown more accustomed to them," she said wickedly.

"It is impossible to grow accustomed to your companionship," he replied dryly, though humor sparked deep in his eyes. That had been a development over the years and was still one he kept closely guarded.

She pressed a hand over her heart, "My how you wound me with your words." She smirked at him and took a quick glance around the main room. "Nothing like the Pearl, is it?"

"I don't spend time in the Pearl, so I wouldn't know," he retorted quickly.

"Oh come now, it's truly not that bad! This one time I visited there and met this lovely young, pirate that taught me how to—"

With cheeks blazing Nathaniel leapt to his feet, "No! I don't want to know!"

"—Duel." Amusement was apparent in her grey eyes. "I was going to say 'duel'."

He looked as if he didn't believe her, but was saved from further embarrassment by the reappearance of the Matron. She looked angrier than ever as she shuffled down the stairs and marched over to them. "You will have to return tomorrow. He is out for the evening."

For all that she was a Warden Commander and the Queen of Ferelden she met the woman's snappy denial with a small smile and a nod. Even though she was careful to keep her identity concealed in other kingdoms, Nathaniel wondered over that sometimes. So many nobles were used to demanding things, buying their way with coin or threats. He had never once seen her play that card. He had never even seen a hint of a thought like that cross her face. As Commander of the Grey she could order the woman's obedience—though the results would likely be met with resistance—but she rarely imposed her rank over others. Despite all that she was an effective leader and even that description didn't do her justice.

"Thank you for your time, Madame. I will return tomorrow as you have requested," she said kindly.

Without another word she turned on her heel, nodded at him to follow, and the two disappeared into the street becoming nothing but two shadows in the darkness.

"That's three days now," Nathaniel commented once they were well away. The river was ahead and they slowed their pace as they reached it. "What's the point of this charade with her?"

He was startled by how grim her voice sounded when she finally spoke. "To see how deep her allegiance with the Orlesians runs." She looked around to make sure no one was within ear shot, though the rush of the river easily drowned out their hushed exchange. "Her establishment is well known for housing informants from both sides of the old conflict. If she is working for the Orlesians it could mean _all_ of the information that filters through here is known to them."

"And if it is?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Then we will take care of it." She sighed heavily and he was reminded that she carried much more on her shoulders then she let on. "We don't know what's going on at this point, but we can't risk it. I will not risk—" she cut herself off but he knew who she was thinking of. "We are blundering around in the darkness and I mean for that to change. I will not give in."

"You have never been one to give in, my dear Warden," a silky voice cut through the darkness and the two turned to the blonde elf strolling leisurely along the river towards them. "That is what is so endearing about you."

"There are many who would disagree with you, old friend." Her voice was soft as she stepped forward to greet him.

"Yes and the growing majority of them are dead so their opinion hardly counts, does it not?"

Cadhla only shook her head. Whether Zevran was joking or not would make no difference. He had his own way of going about things. "What have you found?" she asked, changing the subject.

It was worse than they had thought. The matron's ties ran deeper than anyone had suspected. Orlesian by birth, she had been raised in Nevarra after her father, a chevalier, had been brutally slain when Ferelden had overthrown the Orlesian occupation. A plan would need to be made and quickly.

"We can pull out our informants, but the Orlesians will quickly know that we are on to their schemes and may become even more paranoid. If it is possible to let them continue to feel their sources are secure then we will have an easier time of intercepting their information in the future," Zevran said.

Cadhla folded her arms across her chest, a small smile easing the tension in her face, "You have a plan I'm guessing?"

"You know me better than to ask that, Warden. I always have a plan."

**O-o-O**

The hard packed earth was no friend to her aching body. The red dirt had crusted around her lips in some cruel parody of the makeup that would have brought a higher price to those passing by the cage she had been stuffed into. She shifted and her bruised ribs protested making her cough and gasp.

"—sickly." She heard someone murmur. She knew they were talking about her. She must have looked a sad sight, underfed and hacking mercilessly. Hopefully no one would buy her for whatever reasons they bought other humans, and she would be awarded some reprieve.

"No serrah, 's just dusty in here, s'all," the rat faced man interjected quickly. His foot darted out to bang against the cage bars making her cringe. He leaned over menacingly, "Straighten up, you little bitch. 'Lot worse'll be done to you by us, then by dem folk. You can only hope to be so lucky as to be bought."

When she had been growing up in the orphanage her tongue had often got the best of her. After many nights with no dinner or scrubbing floors until her hands were raw she learned how to control herself, at least for the most part. Common sense demanded she stay silent. There were few better reasons than being locked in a cage at the mercy of strangers. Still sometimes even common sense failed her, as it did now.

"Can you speak more clearly, _serrah_, I can barely understand you," she retorted coolly. "One would think that a person who involves themselves in the buying and selling of goods would learn how to speak properly."

_Did I really just call myself a good_? Her mind scrambled to focus on the more pressing query her tongue had just thoughtlessly spewed. _Did I really just mouth off to the man that has me locked in a cage_? Yes, she had. She could have kicked herself.

She had to admit that his face turned amusing shades of crimson and then puce. It finally settled on something akin to purple as he grabbed the iron bars with both hands and shook the cage. "What did you say, you little bitch?" he screamed at her, spittle flying in every direction.

_Oh shit, Madea, what have you done now?_

Somewhere between her smart-ass retort and his spit shower some part of her had realized that she had no defenses so she might as well go down swinging with the only thing left to her. She wiped the spit from her face delicately and glared up at him. "I asked you to speak more clearly. I cannot understand you when you speak as if your tongue is too large for your mouth."

He screamed at her unintelligibly as he fished for his keys. Rage made him clumsy and he dropped them in the dirt more than once, which only fueled his rage as he searched for the iron pick that would allow him access to his prize.

"She has a mouth on her but she has spirit too. Many of my customers appreciate that in a lay." A woman's voice cut in above his screeching, "I will take her."

The voice belonged to a woman dressed in a ridiculous green frock. She had clearly led a life of some indulgence as she bulged from her decadent clothes that appeared to be several sizes too small. The cloud of perfume that hung around her like an obsessive lover was so cloying it made Madea gag.

"She isna for sale!" the rat-faced man shouted, shaking his keys at the woman.

His partner jumped in, shoving at the other man. "Yes, she is, madame. My friend here's just got a short fuse, is all." He gave the other man a push and snarled something at him.

"That little wench insulted me! She ain't getting nuffin' but a beatin' from me!"

The bigger man grabbed him by the collar and spun him around before sending him flying away, "You'll shut up and do as you're told, you dolt." He turned back to the woman and bobbed his head, "My apologies, madame. She's a bit of a spitfire, sure, but look at them eyes on her. Bright as sapphires, they are. The lads'll like that." He grinned, showing gaps where he was missing teeth.

Madea saw her fate flash before her; she would be sold into slavery and work as a whore to earn this woman more money for her finery and ridiculous perfumes. She would lead a short, brutal life at the hands of the patrons, for she would hardly hold her tongue and allow such things to be done to her without a fight. She would rather be dead; she would rather be in the hands of the templars.

"I AM NOT FOR SALE!" she roared. She had to convince this woman she wasn't worth the trouble. She lashed out at the man through the cage's bar, snarling like a wild thing. "YOU ABDUCTED ME! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SEL—"

Her throat constricted painfully. A thousand tiny needles seemed to pierce every inch from her mouth to her stomach and it instantly felled her. She could barely breathe, let alone protest her fate as she lay writhing in the dirt.

"You see, there are ways to control her tongue," the woman's voice echoed in her ears. Her voice grew closer, but Madea's eyes were so full of tears that she couldn't see the woman peering down at her with cold, scornful eyes. "Seeing as she's temperamental and will need work to groom her and fatten her up I will give you twenty silver."

"But you said she was spirited, that the boys like that about a girl like her!" her captor protested.

"You will not get a better offer. No one is going to take a filthy little brat like her when she's so repugnant," the woman replied. Her voice was unimpressed.

"She's at least worth thirty!" he countered weakly. He was outmatched by this woman and he well knew it.

"Fifteen silver," she retorted, lowering her offer. "I have precious little patience for scum like you and I can certainly take my business elsewhere."

There was a painfully long silence before the harsh rasp of metal told Madea he was opening the door to her cage. That was a bad sign. It could only mean one thing.

"Sold."


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

With the arrival of the midnight hour came the great gusts of wind that often took visitors to the city by surprise. It rushed through the streets and alleyways whipping at the buildings and abandoned market stalls. It lashed at the silken banners left forgotten and stole away anything not tied down. This night the winds brought with them great flashes of lighting followed by the earth shaking crash of thunderheads releasing their fury upon the world.

These summer storms were received with mixed emotions. The wind blew in a sense of peace from the unending heat that could suffocate even the boldest of Nevarrans. The sickening weight of boiling, humid air was like a coffin on the worst of days of summer and these winds often brought a reprieve sometimes for days at a time. But the storms also afforded another cover. In the shadows and dark alleyways the storm's disturbance provided a mask for darker deeds. No one would hear the clank of shackles that bound a group of slaves together; a lot bound for the Imperium. No one noticed the body of a young girl brutally assaulted and left to die in an abandoned street corner until it was much too late. These storms could bring both life and death and the citizens knew that well.

Despite the raucous discord from above Madea was deaf to it all. She was unable to hear anything except the sound of her body suffering at the hands of some unknown assailant. The throbbing of her heart boomed in her ears followed by the whisper of blood and the excruciating rasp of air in her lungs. Pain blazed through her like molten glass. It pulsed and seared her veins until she was oblivious to anything else. It hurt to breathe, hurt to cry. Nothing had ever felt like this. Surely death would have been a kinder host.

Awareness returned to her in the form of an ice cold bath. Her body seized up as she hit the icy water. The pain was gone for the moment; at least she could be thankful for that. Two servants wrestled her clothes from her body and began scrubbing her with all the tenderness one might show a rock. They didn't seem to hear her pleas or protests at the cold water or when they scrubbed her skin until it bled.

"Please," she whimpered, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. "Please stop."

The women didn't notice or didn't care. They continued on with their tasks in silence. It was as if she were a doll simply there for them to toy with. With the pain gone and her indignation at the situation growing every second she jerked to her feet sending waves of water over the two women. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed at them.

"The mistress will be most displeased if you resist," one of the women said in a voice devoid of any emotion.

Madea's eyes widened. Her father had terrified her with tales of the tranquil when she was a child. It had been a way to enforce her to keep her magic hidden. It was a fate more cruel than death. But he had always described the emblem of the sun branded on their foreheads. It was the mark of the Chantry. The doing of the templars. These woman had no brands yet still they spoke as if they had shared a tranquil's fate.

_"What's a tranquil, father?" Madea had asked quite suddenly one evening.___

_Her father's eyes had darted to her face and his voice was menacing as he demanded to know where she had heard the term. "Who told you about the tranquil?"___

_Madea cowered back from him, thankful her hair was unbound and that it fell into her face at the sudden movement. It hid the tears that she knew he would not tolerate. Fear was a part of their relationship. It always had been. Still she knew deep down that her father loved her, at least she told herself so.___

_"Madea! Tell me!"___

_"I heard you talking in your sleep, father," she replied meekly, wishing she hadn't said anything at all but her curiosity had bested her yet again.___

_His face had grown impossibly sad before her eyes and she wasn't sure if she was more terrified by this emotion he never let her see or by his anger, which she knew all too well. His hands covered his face as bent his head under the weight of emotion he had always kept locked away. "My darling," he murmured mournfully and Madea knew he wasn't talking to her.___

_She hadn't gotten an answer that night. It had been the next morning before he had spoken to her again. She had been pouring him a cup of tea when he spoke, his voice startling her and making her slosh the boiling water over her hands.___

_Without any other discernible display of sympathy he had taken her hands in his and soothed an icy balm over the burns. The cooling magic he had infused into the salve eased the pain. As he worked he spoke. "The tranquil are victims of the templars, Madea. They were mages once, like us, but for some reason or another the templars cut off their connection to the fade and in doing so their ties to emotions. They cannot feel, cannot dream." His voice had caught and he dropped her hands as if they had burned him. "They are pitiful creatures and the templars will always turn us into a tranquil should they have the opportunity! You must always be aware."___

_He had described the blazing sun branded on their foreheads in great, horrid detail. It had been more than enough to scare a five year old, even one so brave as she. From then on her courage waned, for in every dark corner of ill-placed shadow lurked a templar waiting to steal her ability to feel. It was something she was terrified to lose, even if all she felt those days was confusion and sorrow._

Her distraction was all they needed to wrestle her down into the tub again. She was too stunned to resist. Her father may have believed tranquility was a better option than death, but not her. She would rather die than lose the ability to feel. Terror blazed through her at the thought of what might be waiting for her.

"Please," she tried again, her voice pleading. "Are you tranquil?"

The two women just stared at her before returning to their task. She told herself that had they been tranquil they would have told her, that they would have had no qualms with answering her question, but inexperience left doubt heavy on her mind.

The door banged open as the two women were toweling her dry and the biggest man Madea had ever seen filled the doorway. She squeaked and tried to cover herself, but her arms were quickly yanked back down to her sides. This only made the man laugh as he appraised her. "Ahh, she's a shy one," he said in a mocking tone that would have made the hackles on the back of her neck stand up were she not so bewildered. "That's cute. Heard you had a mouth on you; I guess we'll just have to see."

The women had barely pulled a plain, cotton dress over her head when he grabbed her roughly by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, "The mistress would like a word and I'd recommend you keep that pretty, little tongue of yours between your teeth unless you want to lose it."

He carried her up two flights of stairs and dropped her unceremoniously in a room empty of anything but a single chair in the center. The wooden floors had not been scrubbed or sanded in years and there were horrendous looking stains everywhere. She knew the dark, rust colored marks were blood, though she tried hard to rationalize an alternate explanation.

The door slammed shut, leaving her alone.

Sounds filtered through the walls and made her cringe. She heard moans and shouts, screams and slaps. She pressed her eyes shut, willing the noises away. All she wanted was to be gone from this place. She would go anywhere as long as it was far away.

After what seemed like hours the door banged open again and the noxious scent of perfume wafted in to announce the arrival of the woman who had bought her.

"Stand up!" she barked, when she caught sight of Madea huddling against a wall.

There was nothing overly alarming about the woman's appearance but she instilled a sense of fear in Madea that made her leap to her feet. Her instincts warned her that this woman was dangerous and not to be trifled with. That cloying perfume may have fooled everyone else, but Madea could smell the death on her. There was blood on this woman's hands and she was proud of it.

Talons dug into Madea's arm as she dragged her to the center of the room. Her bare feet scraped the rough floor and she bit her lip when slivers stabbed her soles, working their way deep into her flesh.

She was circled like a horse for sale. The woman's eyes never left her and they were always wandering, taking in every detail and every flaw. Fingers pinched her flesh, tested her teeth and peeled back her eye lids searching for signs of disease and weakness.

Madea stood quietly as the woman pushed and pulled, poked and—

"Are you a virgin?" the woman asked suddenly.

"I, uhh, yes," Madea stammered.

The woman frowned down at her and grabbed her arm, wrenching her around until she could grasp the hem of the dress to pull it up. Madea opened her mouth to scream her protest when she realized what this woman was about to do but they were both interrupted by the opening of the door.

Madea skittered backwards when the hold on her was released. Her salvation came in the form of a girl only slightly older than her being dragged into the room by her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she fell to her knees sobbing.

"Please Mistress, please! I didn't mean nothing by it!" she cried, her voice shrill with panic.

The woman looked to the man who had dragged her in. The same man who had brought Madea to this room of death. "She was caught keeping her tip," he told her.

He closed the door behind himself as the woman turned on her prey. "Is that so?"

The girl's sobbing quickly turned to screams and she writhed at the woman's feet. "You thought to steal from me, did you Analiese? After all I've done for you, provided for you, you still thought to take money from me?"

"Please mistress! It was for—my mother—she's so—sick!"

Her words were forced out through teeth clenched in agony. Madea could see no hint of pity on the woman's face as she stood over the girl, "I don't care what is wrong with your mother!" she snarled. "You work for me! Bring money into my purse and in return I keep you off the streets! I do not care about your mother!"

The screams turned into agonizing whimpers as the pain increased. Madea could almost see it searing through the poor girl's body and she now knew who had been responsible for the excruciating fire that had burned through her own blood just hours earlier. Somehow this woman was the cause of it.

"Maker, no," she whispered to herself, wishing Analiese's agony away to no avail.

The cackle of this evil creature in front of her made her realize she had heard her. "The Maker?" The woman threw back her head and laughed. "No god will help her… or you!"

A steady dripping drew Madea's attention to a growing puddle of blood that surrounded and immersed the woman's feet. _Was Analiese bleeding? Had she been cut_?

With a sickening dread she realized it was not the girl, but the woman standing over her that was bleeding. She had slit open her forearm with a delicately tooled silver blade. The magic swirled from the blood dripping from the wound and Madea pressed her hands over her ears as Analiese's screams resumed and increased in pitch as her blood boiled within her.

This horrible woman was a mage and not just any mage, a ruthless blood mage. And she owned Madea.

Analiese finally grew still, her pupils dilated in wide, unseeing eyes. At least she would never have to know that agony again. Madea hoped she was in a better place.

The woman turned and licked the blood from her arm with a savage grin as her focus returned to her latest acquisition.

"Now, where were we my little _mageling_?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Mageling._

Every day for as long as she could remember she had worked hard to hide her magic. There was nothing more important. Normal children ran and jumped and shrieked their laughter to a world that embraced their normalcy. She sat inside reading books and wishing she had been born like them so she could do the same. Nights, when the others lay tucked in their beds, were for her long hours of tossing and turning making sure her guard did not fall even in slumber. Her perseverance had been rewarded and no one had found her secret though there had certainly been times when the call had been a close one.

And each close call had been a lesson and one that she took seriously. She suppressed her very nature to the point that she wasn't sure who she was but it was a small price to pay to remain alive and free.

Until now.

She couldn't comprehend how this woman found out her secret so quickly. There was nothing she could think of that would have exposed her. Yet somehow this horrifying creature before her had discovered the one thing she'd always hidden as if she had been waving it about for all to see. The woman turned away from the body and advanced on Madea, her lips rosy with her own blood.

"You seem surprised, little one." The voice that spoke was different now. It was hers, but not hers. There was a deeper intonation to it. Someone—or something—seemed to be speaking through her.

"H—How—?"

"How did I find out your precious, little secret?" The woman finished as she began the same predatory circle around Madea. "You faithful guardian made it impossible to seek you out in the Fade. I had to find you here where you are not so well guarded."

"What are you?" Madea asked.

Dark eyes regarded her curiously. "I am just someone who is interested in getting to know you."

The shreds of her courage emboldened her, though at what cost was not yet known. "I did not ask what you want with me!" she snarled. "I asked what you are!"

Pain exploded through her, sending her crashing to the floor. The woman sneered down at her, "Use your eyes; I'm just a woman," she replied.

"I do not believe you." Her words were forced between teeth clenched in agony. "A mage would not do this to a fellow mage!"

Laughter erupted from the woman as she cackled with mirth. "That just proves how naive you truly are! Your kind have been turning on each other from the very beginning!"

Her kind? _Mages wouldn't turn on each other... Would they?_

She forced herself to focus at the more pressing matter at hand. "And that just proves that you are not what you say you are."

"My, my. Clever and feisty. You are a treat, aren't you?"

Fury fueled her. "I AM NOTHING TO YOU!" The pain made her writhe. "Not a treat! Not anything!"

Yellow eyes swam into view and Madea started. A moment ago she would have sworn the woman's eyes were a dull brown. "Relax, child," the voice soothed. "I could be your best friend."

"I don't want you for my friend," Madea snapped, though the pain made her sound less than convincing.

"That's too bad. Many have benefited from being my friend and been better off because of it."

The woman twirled a lock of her hair absently and then brushed a finger across Madea's lips. "You have lived alone for a long time and survived on so little. Think of what you've always desired, but never thought you'd attain."

So many things flashed through her mind. Friends. A family. A life free of worry.

Her grin was seductive now. "I can give it to you. You just have to let me."

*****

_Quiet as a mouse. Quiet as a mouse._

Bryce repeated that mantra to himself as he crept up the stairs and down the hallway. Three steps ahead and then he had to sidestep to the left to avoid the loose floorboard that would creak beneath his foot. The door at the end was his target; but he had to get there unheard or this would all be an exercise in futility.

He eased himself down onto all fours and crept up towards the door, careful to avoid the flickering light and the shadows they might cast.

He had seen the assassin arrive with a templar and the Commander had given him the look as they disappeared into the study at the end of the hall. He was not to interrupt, not to listen in. This was strictly Grey Warden business and he was not a part of the order, but that would be remedied if he had anything to say about it.

"A blood mage, you say?" The voice was unfamiliar. It must have been the templar.

"An apostate, blood mage with a taste for violence and an affinity for Orlais," another clarified. Bryce knew that lilting accent. "What more could you possibly need?" Zevran asked.

"The Templars are concerned only with keeping order per the will of Andraste. What Orlais plans or does not plan is a matter wholly removed from that," the templar corrected gruffly. Despite being separated by a solid slab of wood Bryce could hear the _but_ in his voice.

Zevran caught it too. "_But_?"

"But the Orlesians are growing bold again and Nevarra will not cede lands that have always been ours. If what you say is true though, her allegiance to Orlais is the least of our concern."

The soft whisper of breath was the Commander sighing. She did that too often in Bryce's opinion. "That is what we count on, Ser."

There was a scraping of wood against wood and then the heavy thud of footsteps pacing back and forth. This templar was a warrior, through and through. No rogue would be so blatantly loud.

"And you are certain that your information is credible? It would look exceedingly poor if the templars were to arrest an innocent woman."

"You have my word," Zevran replied.

There was a pregnant pause. "You'll forgive me if your word does not hold the weight with me that it may with others."

The commander was quick to defend him. The templar may not know her true identity, but she was a force to be reckoned with even stripped of her titles. "His word is good."

Bryce knew that tone. She got it when her patience was at the breaking point. This templar needed to watch his step carefully if he wanted to walk away from this conversation with any thread of his dignity.

The templar cleared his throat. "Of course."

"What is the plan then?" That was Nathaniel.

"Given your information I think it best to proceed during the day when fewer patrons are there. At midday my men and I will go to the brothel and take this woman into custody. If you wish to accompany us the assistance will not be unappreciated, but this is templar business and you follow our lead."

Bryce winced. She was a tolerant woman, but she didn't like being ordered around. "I will follow your lead, Ser Jaron, but know this, if my people are put into danger I will not hesitate to act."

The templar was silent for a long moment. "Noted. I will see you tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Very well. I shall take my leave then."

He barely made it into a darkened room in time as the templar stomped by and down the stairs. Bryce was back in position outside the meeting room before the door slammed shut on the floor below, signaling the templar's departure.

"Your thinly veiled threat was quite effective, warden," Zevran purred.

"There was no threat, Zev," she replied. "It was only a consideration for him to ponder."

The assassin's laugh told Bryce he wasn't convinced but knew better than to argue. She was always blunt when it came to the safety of those in her order. Mincing words lent to unnecessary injuries and deaths. She had taken great pains to rebuild the Ferelden order and she did so by keeping safety a top priority.

The door swung open, startling Bryce and leaving him sprawled on the floor. "You have much to learn, my young friend," Zevran said leaning against the door frame, grinning at him; Bryce's eyes cut to the commander who was standing behind the assassin with exasperation written all over her face.

_Andraste's flaming knickers!_Bryce was in for it now.

"He's just like his father," Zevran mused.

The commander only rolled her eyes. "His father would never have been caught eavesdropping outside a door from which he been ordered to stay away from." She strode forward and picked him up off the floor, pushing him into the room with a little more force than was strictly necessary. _Yep, definitely in trouble_.

"It seems like you have things to work out. I'm afraid I will not be able to join you tomorrow for your excursion to the brothel, but I will meet up with you as soon as my own business here is concluded."

The commander clasped his shoulder, "I appreciate the help, Zev. You know where to find me if you need anything."

"That I do." He nodded at the others, "Wardens." He looked at Bryce, humor sparking in his eyes. "Bryce."

And with those simple words he was gone.

The commander turned to the others. "Can you all excuse me? I need to have a word with Bryce."

_Shit._

He'd had long lectures before, but never any quite like this. He supposed she had good reason. This was the first time she'd allowed him to come with the Wardens beyond Ferelden's borders.

Years of lectures had left him with an acute knowledge of how to get through them as quickly as possible. He shut his mouth, nodded or shook his head as was required and at the end he promised never to repeat the offending behavior.

"I told you to stay downstairs," she finally snapped after she had finished a particularly long winded lecture about responsibility and duty. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

He offered a sheepish grin. "Better to ask for forgiveness, than for permission?"

She groaned and let her face fall into her hands, "He's right, you know."

"Who's right?" Bryce asked.

"Zevran. You do take after your father."


	6. Chapter 6

Bryce kept telling himself that the Commander had known the locks in this room were easily picked and he was pretty sure that she knew he had his lock-picking kit with him. He always had it with him. This was just for formality's sake. There would certainly be a cloud of disapproval if she had openly let him tag along. She hadn't expressly forbid him from following after all.

The wires and picks were like extensions of his own fingers as he teased his tools into position. With a few expert moves he had it open. The lock clicked audibly and he held his breath as he waited to see if anyone had been left behind to guard his room. There were no footsteps, no warnings or tall, stone faced warriors there to order him back inside. _The commander surely would have left Jin or someone if she didn't mean for me to come_, he told himself. The years had taught him that when people meant for him to stay put they posted guards, locked him in his room after taking his lock picking kit away from him or if the really meant it they put him in his brother's charge.

His older brother, Duncan, was his polar opposite. Where Bryce was hyper and impulsive, Duncan was calm and controlled. With their parents busy running a kingdom they had been each other's company growing up. The two year gap in age meant nothing to them. All differences aside the two brothers were the closest friends and allies.

He tweaked his clothes straight and strode down the hall. Mouthwatering aromas wafted upstairs from the main room and kitchen. Lunch time was a lively affair here and Bryce hoped to avoid notice but as he descended the stairs two at a time the innkeeper, a charming woman with grey hair, looked up from her spot behind the bar and caught his eye. She made a show of brushing off her apron and sashaying over to him as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "Young ser, I was informed you would be staying in for the afternoon," she said. "Are you hungry? Shall I have the kitchen staff fix you something?"

"Thank you, but I must pass," Bryce replied. "I have an errand that needs to be run."

Suspicion sparked deep in her eyes. "I was told by your leader that you were staying in until she and the rest of your party returned." He smiled. _Another ruse, a deterrent to those less determined than he._

Bryce caught her hand and raised it gallantly to his mouth, "The commander does expect me to stay in but I was hoping to sneak out for an hour or so," he admitted, playing along.

She slowly shook her head, "She didn't say you were going to be leaving the inn at all."

Bryce could hear the skepticism in her voice and knew if he played his cards right he could be free and clear. He had watched the commander converse with the innkeeper; the two women seemed to be on friendly terms. "The commander doesn't know about this errand," he told her, confiding in her as if she were an old friend.

"She was pretty adamant that you stay here until she returns," the woman said, glancing around the room out of habit.

He set his arm around the woman's shoulders and steered her out of the way of another patron coming down the stairs. "Well you see, this errand was something I couldn't tell her about," Bryce said, his voice softening so it seemed as if he was sharing a secret.

There was nothing the woman liked better than a good chunk of gossip. Her eyes widened in anticipation. "Oh? And why's that, my lad?"

"Her name day is approaching—fast approaching—and I want to get her a gift while she's away. It's a surprise you see," he told her. His face grew grave, "She doesn't tell people when it is because she doesn't like people fussing over her, you see."

Bryce knew he had won her over as he watched her face soften. "Oh aren't you a dear? Well I guess if that's the reason there would be no harm done." She prattled off a list of merchants he should visit.

"You are too kind, my dear lady," Bryce replied. "You have helped me immensely."

Her cheeks flushed red as she ushered him towards the door. "Go on then, shoo! Your secret is safe with me," she said, flapping her hands at him. "But be back before the others return or it will be my head on a platter."

"Your wish is my command." He bowed to her as he swept out the door and her delighted laugh followed him into the street.

"Do you think we should have brought Bryce with us?"

Cadhla glanced over at Nathaniel as they turned a corner. She had been turning that very question around in her head since they had left the inn. Bryce had good intentions, but he also had a knack for finding mischief. Every time she left him behind he got into trouble; every time he got into trouble she swore she'd never repeat the experience. But she had been telling herself that for years.

"If you had asked me that fifteen minutes ago I would have replied with an adamant no, but now…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I always tell myself I should just keep him in sight, that I'll be able to manage him better, but I always convince myself not to when the time comes."

Bryce was the perfect example of a child that parents wished on their own children when they were exasperated to no end. He had a good heart, but was a magnet for mischief through and through.

"Next time he begs me to come along you just remind me of today," she told Nathaniel.

A knowing smile creased his face as he clapped her on the shoulder, "You say that every time, but it's not like you could have brought him with us to a place like this."

"No, you're right," she sighed. "But somehow he'll manage to show up, all the same."

*****

_The sun sparkled on the ocean as if it were made of a million glittering gemstones. They danced and swelled as the waves broke over sand as white as snow. A little girl skipped along the water's edge, shrieking with laughter when the cool water rushed over her bare feet. Her hair was the color of the sky at dusk and it trailed out behind her like ribbons as she played.___

_Her father had brought her here, to the ocean. She had never been more excited than when he told her where they were going.___

_Happiness spilled across her face as she crouched to examine a bright purple shell that had washed ashore. Small, silver fish darted around her feet both startled and intrigued by her wiggling toes. The ocean sang to her as she ventured further into the water, the waves swirling and tugging at her calves. There was something freeing about the ocean, something wild and untamed. It was beautiful and haunting all at the same time.___

_"Careful Madea!"___

_The little girl glanced back at her father, smiling brilliantly. "Yes papa!"___

_When she danced over to him he held his arms open to her and she fell into his embrace with a delicate laugh. "Isn't the ocean beautiful?"___

_He stroked her hair, "Yes, my darling."___

_Gulls shouted overhead and she shielded her eyes as she watched them wheel and dart on the thermals. They were bold and reckless, the exact opposite of what two apostates would be. But they were not apostates. Here they were happy, normal people who had escaped from their chores for a day beside the ocean._

"Have you reconsidered my offer?"

Madea was lying broken on the floor but she still managed to snarl in the woman's direction. "I will not deal with you, demon!"

The abuse had turned physical upon her first refusal of the demon's offer. Blows had left bruises, nails had left scratches. Madea whimpered as tears filled her eyes, burning them, as she thought about all of the things the demon had shown her. She wanted it all.

The coppery tang of blood grew stronger as the demon leaned in, sensing her weakening resolve. "I don't believe you, little mageling. I think you really want to accept."

Madea shook her head, but the movement was infinitesimal. She couldn't even bring herself to speak out against the demon's offer so strong was her desire for it.

"Tell me, child, out loud, that you don't want what I offer," the demon commanded.

Madea opened her mouth to refuse the demon again but nothing came out.

"Oooh, that's what I like to hear," she giggled, stroking Madea's cheek with one long finger. "You see, my lovely, that silence is the sound of you accepti—"

The door slammed open, interrupting the woman who whirled around with a snarl. "Madame! Madame!" The breathless young woman was barely dressed and panting for breath like she had run miles.

"What is it?" the woman snapped, sounding more like herself than she had in the past twelve hours.

"TEMPLARS!"


	7. Chapter 7

Magechild

_Chapter Seven_

Terror exploded through Madea. Her magic was brimming so close to the surface; she could feel it beginning to erupt through the shreds of her self-control. She knew the templars would identify her as a mage and take her away, make her tranquil, as soon as they laid eyes on her. The pain from her abuse only made her fear a more primal and uncontrollable creature. It swelled in the pit of her stomach and clawed at her, burning her from within.

As soon as her assailant's attention turned from her she shrank against the far wall cowering into the corner as best she could. The room was dimly lit, but the shadows did little to aid her desperate attempt at disappearing.

The door slammed shut and she could hear the woman's voice as she screamed at her employees. They were to be more vigilant—the templars should never have made it here unannounced. The tenor of her speech had changed; the demon had receded back into its host.

She squeezed her eyes shut trying to bring back the demon's dream. She wanted to be anywhere else. She wanted to hear the sound of the ocean, feel the sand between her toes and see her father again. Still no matter how hard she tried there was no escape.

"Why?"

Her voice was hushed and broken from hours of screaming and pleading for an end the demon wouldn't give her. She barely recognized it.

If she hadn't been born this way, if she were just a normal girl she wouldn't be here right now. The demon would have no interest in her. Rage filled her and she smashed her fist against the wall, leaving a bloody smear on top of the myriad of others. "WHY ME?" she screamed in frustration. "Why did I have to be like this?"

"Be like what?"

She gasped in surprise. There was a boy coming through the window. She squinted, grimacing at the pain from an eye that was beginning to swell. It was the boy from the marketplace. The blonde hair and gray eyes were unmistakable. It was definitely him.

He recognized her too. "Bright eyes! What in Andraste's flaming knickers are you doing here?"

"Andraste's flaming knickers?" she repeated. She had never heard that particular exclamation before. She could almost taste the soap the attendants at the orphanage would have used to scrub her mouth out for such speech.

"Err, well yes. Seeing flaming knickers on the Maker's prophet would be pretty surprising. Don't you think?" he asked. He had darted to the doorway and cracked it open, peeking out into the hallway.

He had a point; that would be pretty shocking. The voices dimmed as he clicked the door shut and turned back to her. She watched concern etch itself on his face as he took in her appearance and she flinched as he approached. "What happened to you?" he asked.

_Oh__I__'__ve__just__been__knocked__out,__sold__and__beaten.__Tortured__by__a__demon.__Nothing__much._ The voice in her head was sarcastic, but she managed to bite back her tongue. He had done nothing to earn a snarky attitude from her. If anything she should be on her knees before him, thanking him for the food he had so freely given her.

He knelt before her and there was something soothing about his presence; something warm. His fingers brushed her bruised cheek and it was instinct that caused her to jerk away not fear. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

"Promises mean little to me," she replied, but her voice was not as harsh as it would have usually been.

He pursed his lips together in a way that made her to smile despite all the pain. "I can see why," he said. When he reached out this time she forced herself to stay still as his fingers pressed against her cheekbone. She winced but permitted it.

"It's not broken," he told her. When his diagnosis was met with a raised eyebrow he shrugged and his lips twitched into a grin. "I've learned a bit in my time, though I'm no healer."

His smile was contagious and she felt her lips twitch up in an answering grin before she could help it.

The sound of voices increased and he stood up again, dashing to the door nervously. "Come-on, we've gotta go."

"What?"

He grabbed her hand and ignored how she pulled against him. Dragging her to her feet he ushered her towards the door, "We need to get outta here."

"But I—" As much as she wanted to leave, where would she go? She had nowhere else to go. No place to belong.

"Look you can come willingly or unwillingly, but you're coming. I can't leave you hear after they did that to you." He gestured at her and she knew she was a sorry sight. Her clothes that had been ragged before were now bloodstained and torn. Her hair hung limp around her face. Even she wouldn't have stuck her neck out for someone as sad-looking as she.

His lips pursed in impatience but his eyes were still kind as he grabbed her arm and pulled her along. The hallway was empty and they hurried down its length as the voices from below grew louder. Many voice were emanating from what could only have been the main room and none of them were happy.

"YOU HAVE SOME NERVE COMING HERE LIKE THIS, SERAH!"

Madea shrunk back at the fury in the voice of her tormentor. She would never be able to forget the whispered threats and silky promises that voice had tempted her with. There was no forgetting the cackling laughter as her body had been subjected to the torture from a being that had done this many times before.

A tug on her hand brought her attention back to her new companion. "Come-on."

He urged her forward. He had been kind to her in the market but like all things kindness eventually ended. Still she wasn't any better off her. Either way she was betting on her life, but she was left with few other options.

"Bright eyes, let's go!" His voice was tense now. She let him take her hand and they ran down the hall towards the stairs. Her bare feet scuffed the floor and his grip on her hand was tight enough to bruise, but the moment she had laid her hand in his she knew she had given him something she swore not to give anyone again.

She could kick have kicked herself. This was going to come back and bite her, she just knew it.

She had given him her trust.

"YOU HAVE SOME NERVE COMING HERE LIKE THIS, SERAH!"

The Matron was beyond mad. Fury crept up her face like a wave, staining her cheeks as red as the rouge on her lips.

Cadhla had remained behind the Templars as requested and she exchanged a sly glance with Nathaniel. This was quickly getting out of hand. He smirked and his shoulders lifted infinitesimally in a shrug that said,_So?__What__are__you__going__to__do__about__it?_

For the moment, nothing. She wasn't used to deferring control to others but she had given the Templar her word. So long as there was no threat to her people she would stand down.

"Madame, you are coming with us. There is no discussion." The Templar was calm but you could tell there was no negotiation.

"How dare you!" she screeched. "How dare you come into my place and assume to order me around! I demand you leave immediately!"

The Templar that had met with her last night stepped forward, "I am done asking—"

The woman threw her head back and cackled. "Asking? You stupid Templar! You have no power over me!"

There was enough time for Cadhla to think, _Oh,__crap!_before a wave of magic threw them all like ragdolls. _I__never__get__enough__of__this,_ she thought sarcastically. A chair broke her fall and she broke Nathaniel's. Her breath rushed out of her leaving her gasping like a fish out of water.

Nathaniel leapt to his feet and yanked her up in one fluid motion. The movement allowed her to suck in a breath of air as she drew her twin blades. One Templar hadn't risen and from the odd angle at which his head was resting Cadhla knew he wouldn't be rising again.

"This has gone on quite long enough," she growled. A quick scan of the room revealed six shades. The woman had disappeared. They could not afford to let her get away. She met Nathaniel's eye, "You four take these; I'll go after her."

"Jin, you three take care of this. The commander and I are going after the Matron." Nathaniel wasn't letting her go after a powerful mage by herself.

"Up the stairs." Nathaniel knew what she was thinking. They skirted around the room as fast as they could, but the battle slowed them down. Every second they had to slide to a stop to avoid a shade's attack or dodge the errant backswing of Templar's swing increased the chance they would not find their mark.

"Go!" she commanded Nathaniel. She had been engaged by a shade and he paused to look back to her.

She hated these fade creatures. They were as nasty as the rooster that had tormented her as a child back in Highever and proved much harder to escape. Dispatching them always seemed to take longer than it should because just when she thought she had it the fiend would sink into the floor and then reappear moments later in an entirely new place.

When she finally dispatched it she dashed up the stairs only to collide with Nathaniel's back as she rounded the corner. "Maker's breath, Nathaniel! What in Andrast—"

The exclamation died on her lips. They had found their target, but she had found something too.

_Oh,__Bryce._She was going to ground him forever when they returned to Ferelden._No__questions,__no__discussions._

"I believe I have something that belongs to you."

Cadhla pushed past Nathaniel with a snarl. No one threatened her family and lived. Her fingers twitched against the hilts of her blades, a fact that did not go unnoticed.

"Kindly remove your hands from your blades, human." The Matron's voice had changed to the silky drawl that pulled Cadhla back to her dizzying experiences in the fade.

"Kindly remove your hands from those children and I will be happy to oblige," she countered.

The demon was in no mood to negotiate. "I have been waiting since before you were born to have my chance with such a tasty morsel. You will not stop me now when I am so close!"

Cadhla felt sick as she watched the way the demon's gaze lingered on the girl in her grasp. The girl wasn't any older than Bryce and her hair and clothes were stained with blood. Bruises had bloomed across her arms and face and she looked like she could barely keep herself upright.

"You can call me Desire," the demon purred. "And if you do one little thing for me I'll be a nice demon and let you live."

Cadhla made herself hold her tongue. There was a way out of this but it did not involve making a deal with a demon.

Desire grew impatient. "Don't you want to hear what you have to do?"

"I don't deal with your kind, demon! I never have and I never will."

She looked amused. "So you have dealt with us before? Then you know that I'm really being very generous. The children are mine and I'll leave you with your life."

The pounding of steps up the stairs drew her attention for the briefest of moments and Cadhla took that attention to leap forward. Her momentum freed both children and sent her and the demon tumbling to the floor. She snapped her dagger against the demon's throat. "I told you, demon, I don't deal with your kind and that includes you."

"We will take it from here."

Cadhla rolled her eyes. The Templars certainly had impeccable timing. She leaned in, "I doubt you'll get the chance," she whispered with murder in her voice, "but if you ever lay a hand on them again I will kill you. I won't even hesitate."

She didn't wait for a reply she didn't want. She stood and two Templars took her place. Nathaniel had charge of Bryce and the girl.

The Templar captain that had arranged this messy charade nodded at her, "Your assistance was appreciated."

There was about as much gratitude in his voice as there was love for mages amongst his order. Normally it would have irritated her but with her task accomplished his appreciation or lack thereof mattered little to her. She simply nodded.

Without a backwards glance she turned towards the stairs. "She's possessed, Captain. Without telling you how to do your job I would suggest you deal with her immediately."

The last sound she heard as she descended the stairs was the demon screaming her outrage followed by the harsh rasp of a blade being drawn.

A murmured prayer, then nothing.


End file.
